


Can't Rain All The Time

by tangiblewhimsy



Series: Street Kids [1]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangiblewhimsy/pseuds/tangiblewhimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aiba met Jun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Rain All The Time

Clouds overhead burst into a torrential downpour of cold, gray rain, quickly soaking through Aiba's messy hair and old, worn coat. He ran quickly through the falling liters, splashing and sloshing his way down a familiar side alley to a graffitied metal door which he pulled open with a grunt. Stomping some of the water and muck from his boots upon entry, Aiba trudged his way up the old cement stairs, elbows brushing the old stained walls as he ascended to the next floor.

Coming out on an empty expanse, his booted feet echoing loudly across the stone floor and pillars Aiba came to an immediate halt. Standing, hunched over an old backpack, was a boy with prominent features, dark hair and wide, dark eyes. He looked startled by Aiba's appearance.

Bringing one hand up in a dripping half-wave Aiba watched the other boy carefully. "Uh...Hi?"

The dark-haired boy stood straight. He was shorter than Aiba, thick, groomed brows angled sharply over calculating eyes that were now closed off to Aiba's reading. "This your place?"

Aiba knew what the boy meant by the question. He was asking if he was encroaching on Aiba's stake, his temporary territory. "Kinda," he answered, shifting his weight on his feet. The rain was beginning to soak through his clothing, making the synthetic fibers stick uncomfortably to his skin.

"I'll go then," the (seemingly) younger man stooped to hurriedly retrieve his bag.

"Nah, it's all right," Aiba waved a hand and smiled, his teeth chattering in his mouth involuntarily from the seeping cold. "It's kinda wet outside anyway."

The dark-haired boy paused, regarding Aiba with clear suspicion. Aiba shrugged and tossed his bag down beside a pillar a respectable distance away from his fellow squatter and began shrugging off his coat so he might try and wring it out. Aiba'd been on the streets long enough to know that look and know that it was what smart guys learned how to do from being alone. He was sizing Aiba up, trying to discern whether or not he was a threat and weighing the possibilities, the pros and cons of staying here if he couldn't defend himself if Aiba turned out to be a psycho.

Aiba also knew that nothing he could say or do would influence the end decision in any way. So he began to hum to himself as he changed his shirt, digging through his bag for anything that was more-dry-than-not. "It's amazing when it starts to rain really hard like today, especially when the sun was so clear earlier! Though I suppose it's kind of normal for this time of the year, huh?"

"It's November."

Aiba looked up and blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected a response. Grinning he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back with assistance of the rainwater it was still soaked with. "Well, yeah."

"The rainy season is in July," the other boy answered flatly, as if this should be obvious.

Pausing for a moment Aiba tried to think back to school and what he learned about the months. "Huh...I guess it is, isn't it?" He smiled at the stranger again. "Aiba, by the way."

There came a sound of acknowledgment as the boy stooped to his bag again for the first time since Aiba had entered. He began shuffling around in it once more, pulling out a small, many times mended and repaired pillow and a carefully folded blanket.

Aiba went about drying his hair as best he could before taking off his boots to remove his soiled socks and replace them with his only dry pair. He continued to chat brightly at his companion, occasionally receiving verbal replies and occasionally receiving nothing. When Aiba pulled out a bag of Skittles to munch on he held up the bag to his new found friend and offered him some.

The boy's dark eyes were always shrewd, expecting Aiba to broach some boundary. As the time passed by, the deafening rush of the rain outside subsiding to the lonely drips of a drying city, Aiba did nothing more than muse on the widest spectrum of topics he'd ever heard anyone speak on in one breath. And offer him Skittles (which he accepted after staring at the package in disbelief a moment).

As Aiba tested the dryness of his coat and found it an acceptable variance of damp he bundled it around himself and stuffed his bag under his head. "G'night!" he chirped to his neighbor.

After a pause (during which Aiba shifted and rolled to try and find the softest, least cold part of the cement floor) the same deep voice sounded quietly from the next pillar over.

"I'm Matsumoto," it said. "Matsumoto Jun."

Aiba smiled at the ceiling. "G'night, Jun-chan."


End file.
